


In Times of Trouble

by deacertes



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, mention of Aramis/oc's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2363780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deacertes/pseuds/deacertes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written to fill a prompt asking for Aramis to be stranded in a rainstorm with everything stolen from him. He's supposed to meet the other Musketeers at an inn somewhere, so he's forced to walk there. When he shows up soaked and exhausted the others take care of him. (Formerly titled 'Stranded' over on the meme.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Friends show their love in times of trouble, not in happiness.  
> ~ Euripides
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta, Ponygirl and her equine wisdom ;)

Aramis barely had chance to register the branch travelling toward him before it struck him high in the chest and catapulted him from his horse. His vision greyed out as he struck the ground; the impact forcing the air from his lungs. Gasping, he was too stunned to offer up any resistance as the men who had set the trap rushed out from the cover of the trees. His purse, sword, pistol, and arquebus were taken first. It was only when rough hands started to tug at his boots that he shook off some of his dazed confusion and tried to fight back. However, a blow to the head sent him spiralling down into the darkness.

The next thing he was aware of was cold water on his face. It took another moment or two for him to realise that it was rain. Ignoring the agony that threatened to split his skull in two, Aramis forced his eyelids open and blinked hard to clear the droplets from his lashes. He was lying on his back beneath a canopy of trees. The snatches of sky he could glimpse overhead had begun to take on the velvety darkness of night, so he knew several hours must have passed. Moving his fingers made him aware of the sodden moss and leaf mulch underneath him. He sat up, putting a hand to his chest as pain lanced through it. 

The likelihood of cracked ribs was a foregone conclusion by the time he finally got to his feet. Though since he hurt all over it was hard to pinpoint the majority of his injuries. When he put up a hand to push his soaked hair back from his face it came back bloody, but his fingers were too stiff and clumsy from the cold to determine the source. He didn't think it could be too serious. Most likely some of the small twigs and foliage on the branch had scratched him.

Even though the cold was rapidly robbing him of every sensation but pain, Aramis realise that his feet felt... strange. His spirits sank further still as he looked down at his stockinged feet. Not content with taking his horse, purse, and weapons, the thieves had also robbed him of his hat, coat, and boots, leaving him stranded in the middle of a forest in just his shirt and breeches. He supposed he should be grateful they had at least left him alive, but he was finding it difficult to summon up any magnanimity towards them at the moment.

Taking a moment to get his bearings, Aramis braced himself with an arm around his ribs before setting off. The four of them had prearranged to meet up at an inn, before travelling on to Paris together. However, since the time scale for them meeting was dependent on the completion their individual duties, it was unlikely they would miss him for another day at least. Barring the unlikely good fortune of meeting a benevolent traveller on the open road, he was on his own.

With the rain still pouring down, Aramis trudged through the forest; unwilling to stop and rest, even for a moment. He was too fearful that he would lose consciousness again. He had to reach his friends, then he could rest. Until then, he would keep walking.

*****

Porthos was the first to arrive at the inn. He was soon joined by d'Artagnan. It was some hours before Athos made an appearance, scowling beneath the brim of his sodden hat. The other two made room for him at their table and soon revived his dampened spirits. As they drank and ate they speculated on the likelihood of their absent brother being delayed by an encounter on the road. Porthos declaring that if any one could find a pretty lady in the middle of nowhere, it was Aramis. 

Aramis meanwhile, would have been grateful to encounter any one on the road, regardless of their countenance. His stockings were torn and waterlogged, providing scant protection from either the terrain or the weather. The torrential rain had turned the road to thick squelchy mud, making progress slow and hard-going. The only illumination came from the moon as the clouds occasionally parted overhead. Every breath took a monumental amount of effort and the pain that accompanied each left a deep furrow on his brow. 

Finally he saw the inn up ahead. The dark shape of the building and the warm welcoming glow of the windows. Aramis almost collapsed to his knees and wept in relief. He continued wearily along the track, but when he reached the gate at the end he found he had neither the strength nor the dexterity to open it. He sagged against the post as the rain beat down on him. Perhaps if he rested here for just a moment he would be able to manage it on a second attempt.

The inn keeper's son was hurrying back across the yard having finished the last of his chores. It was pure chance that he caught sight of a dark shape by the gate. Curiosity led him to take a few steps toward it and peer into the blackness, but having identified what he thought it was, the lad took to his heels and ran inside shouting for his parents.

His mother and father both came running, but the musketeers were already on their feet, trying to make sense of the boy's frantic speech. The innkeeper stepped in front of his son and placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Slow down, Philippe. What's outside?"

"A man," the boy repeated, still excitable but somewhat less rushed. "There's a man down by the gate."

"What did this man look like?" asked Athos.

The boy turned wide eyes on the musketeer as he though suddenly realising who else he was addressing. "I don't know, sir. It's pretty dark out there now, so it was hard to see. But I think he might be dead."

"Philippe!" his mother admonished.

"Let him speak, Anna."

"Honestly, mother. It's the truth. There's a man by the gate. He wasn't moving. He's just sort of slumped against it."

"He might be ill or hurt," said Anna. 

"I'll go and see," said her husband. 

She put a hand on her his arm. "Be careful, Gerard."

The musketeers carried out their own silent conversation, no words needed to be exchanged between them for them to decide to act. Porthos had already put on his hat and was reaching for his cloak. Athos spoke to the innkeeper, his voice quiet but authoritative. 

"It might be better if you were to allow us to see who this man is."

Gerard hesitated. His wife and son spoke almost together.

"Don't go, Father."

"Let them go, Gerard, please."

He nodded reluctantly. "Very well. But take the dog with you. He'll let you know if any one else is out there." 

He called the animal away from the fire and fastened a rope around its neck before handing the other end to d'Artagnan. The young man took it gingerly, for the dog was nearly the size of a small pony. Gerard saw his nervousness and smiled, scratching the dog behind its ear.

"Don't worry. He won't hurt you as long as you're on that end of the rope. But he don't take to any one hanging around outside after dark. We had a thief try and help himself to some of our chickens once. He took a lump the size of your fist out of his leg before the fellow made good his escape."

"Empty handed," Anna added, patting the dog's side fondly.

D'Artagnan smiled weakly and kept a tight hold of the rope as he followed Porthos and Athos outside.

The rain had not let up and along with the increasing gloom, it was difficult to see very much of anything. They were more than half way across the yard before they saw the figure, slumped against the gate post just as the boy had said. 

D'Artagnan heard the dog rumble a warning.

"Ssh, it's all right," he reassured the animal. For the man scarcely looked to be a threat.

Athos and Porthos kept their hands on their swords as they drew closer. Athos maintained a careful watch on their shadowy surroundings as Porthos took hold of the man and eased him away from the gate. 

The man's head lolled back and Porthos let out an anguished cry. 

Athos turned sharply and as d'Artagnan watched he went forward, yanking off his glove to place his fingers against the man's throat.

"He's alive. We must get him inside quickly."

It was only when Porthos lifted the man into his arms that d'Artagnan saw what had caused the sudden change in their behaviour.

"Aramis," he gasped. 

"Go and tell them to have food and blankets ready. Go," Athos repeated more forcefully, as a stunned d'Artagnan stared at the unconscious body of their friend.

D'Artagnan ran back to the inn, the dog racing ahead of him, half dragging him along.

Gerard stood in the doorway clutching an ancient looking blunderbuss, with his wife and son behind him.

"It's our friend," said d'Artagnan, breathlessly. "He's been hurt."

Anna put her hand to her mouth, but recovered quickly, sending her son to fetch blankets while she stoked up the fire, and her husband pulled up a chair.

"Would you like me to stay and help?" she asked.

D'Artagnan was saved from answering by the arrival of Athos and Porthos - cradling Aramis in his arms. All three were trailing rain water in their wake. 

The dog - perhaps picking up on the anxiety in the room - began to bark and pull on the rope. Gerard took him from d'Artagnan and led the agitated animal away.

Athos discarded his hat and assisted Porthos in lowering Aramis carefully into the chair.

D'Artagnan was relieved to see that Aramis had regained consciousness. He saw Aramis' lips move, saying something to Athos that caused the older musketeer to adopt an expression of fond exasperation. 

Athos saw the curiosity on d'Artagnan's face.

"He apologises for being late. Apparently he encountered a little trouble on the road."

"The bastards took his boots," Porthos growled. 

Athos immediately looked down and frowned.

At that moment Anna reappeared with her son in tow. They had brought armfuls of blankets and a basin of water. 

"Here, dry him off with some of these and wrap him up in the rest," she told them. "Now, are you all right to manage him on your own or do you need some help?"

The three men looked at her.

"Perhaps it would be better if we were to take him upstairs?" suggested Athos, politely.

She clucked her tongue at them. "He would do as well to stay by the fire, at least until he's dry. The guests are all in bed, they won't trouble you. If it's my presence that worries you; I've been married nigh on fifteen years. I've nursed a sick father and raised a son. The sight of a man isn't going to reduce me to maidenly blushes. Now get him out of those wet things and I'll see if I can prepare something to take the chill out of him."

Athos' met her gentle scolding with a grateful smile. "Thank you."

She nodded at him and left them once more, taking her son with her.

"Who was that?" croaked Aramis.

"Anna, the innkeeper's wife," said Athos, kneeling to peel off Aramis' mud caked stockings. 

Porthos had already begun helping Aramis out of his shirt, while d'Artagnan shook out the folded blankets.

A low groan from Aramis and a hissed breath from Porthos drew the other two's attention. They soon saw the cause. For as he lifted the shirt Aramis' chest was revealed to be mottled with livid bruises.

"What did they do, trample you with their horses?" d'Artagnan exclaimed in horror.

"Branch," said Aramis, panting through the pain. "Trap."

"Are they broken?" asked a worried Athos.

Porthos shook his head. "Feels like some of them are cracked though."

"They. Are," said Aramis.

"Don't try lifting his arms to remove it. Cut it off," said Athos.

"No," objected Aramis, weakly.

"I will purchase you another," said Athos.

Aramis surrendered with a sigh.

Athos bent his head over his task. Having removed the ruined stockings he was cleaning away the dirt that had soaked through them. It was soon clear that Aramis' feet had faired little better than his chest; they were covered with cuts and puffy bruises. Athos lifted each foot onto his lap and performed his task with the utmost care. Washing and drying between each toe, dabbing at the sore skin, examining each wound. Finally he propped Aramis' feet upon a rolled up blanket, which was both softer and cleaner than the floor.

Porthos had finished carefully cutting away the shirt, dropping the wet pieces of cloth onto the floor. "How do you want to do them?" he asked, with a nod toward Aramis' breeches.

"No knife," said Aramis.

D'Artagnan looked at Aramis' feet doubtfully. "I'm not sure it's going be a good idea to stand on those."

"I... walked... here... on... them," Aramis pointed out, drawing in a shuddery breath between each word.

"If you support him, I will remove them," said Athos. "D'Artagnan, if you would assist me, please."

Porthos soothed Aramis' disgruntled rumbling as he carefully lifted his friend back into his arms, mindful of his damaged ribs. Even so, Aramis paled and bit down hard on his lip.

"Be quick," said Porthos.

Athos and d'Artagnan wasted no time unfastening Aramis breeches, tugging the saturated cloth free of his legs. They removed his small clothes too, wrapping him in a blanket before sitting him back in the chair. They draped another around his shoulders. Porthos picked up a third to dry his hair.

Aramis flinched as Porthos rubbed the left side of his head.

Porthos stopped and moved his hands as Athos stepped forward to take a closer look.

"There is a large contusion. However the skin isn't broken and I detect no movement of bone beneath it." 

He nodded to Porthos, who finished drying Aramis' hair, now mindful of the head wound.

"Hit me," said Aramis. "Took... my... boots."

"Never mind that now," said Athos. "You need to rest."

"Tired," Aramis agreed.

Athos pushed Aramis' damp curls back from his brow, and then turned to face the owner of the approaching footsteps.

"Here." Anna held out a cup of something sweet smelling. "See if you can get him to drink a little of this. It's just honey and herbs, but it should soothe him."

Athos thanked her and held the cup steady for Aramis while he drank. 

Though he could manage no more than a few mouthful before he waved it away.

"Sleep now?"

D'Artagnan ducked his head to hide a smile, for Aramis sounded more like a sleepy child than a seasoned soldier.

"Yes, you may sleep now," said Athos.

"Stay?" Aramis asked, his eyes already closed.

"Yes, I will stay," Athos promised. He looked at Porthos, whose expression said that Athos did not need to ask. "Porthos will stay too."

"And I will. It's warmer down here anyway."

D'Artagnan's excuse was unnecessary, as Porthos merely handed him a spare blanket. The three men took up positions around the room. Porthos stretched out on the floor, closest to Aramis. A bench in an alcove served as a bed for Athos. D'Artagnan tried to get comfortable in a chair near the window, but soon abandoned it in favour of the floor. 

At some point during the night the dog padded in, calm now that everyone was quiet and still. D'Artagnan had apparently taken its favourite spot, for it flopped down beside him. He made a brief attempt to discourage it, but the dog only rumbled at him. In the end, D'Artagnan decided to take advantage of the animal's warmth and fell asleep with his back pressed up against it.

*****

Exhaustion held Aramis under for a time. All too soon however, the pain of his ribs woke him. His other injuries left him feeling sore and wretched, but it was his ribs that made movement impossible and each breath an unhappy chore. He tried to be quiet, not wanting to disturb his friends. 

He drew comfort from their presence, able to relax his guard for the first time in too many hours. 

His long slog through the rain had left him with a secondary problem - one that unfortunately compounded the first. His throat was sore and scratchy, and he could feel a gathering prickly sensation in the back of his throat that filled him with dread. 

Aramis fought it off for as long as he could, but in the end his body forced its demands upon him, and he broke into a spell of violent coughing that made the pain flare white hot

The coughing woke Porthos, who immediately sat up. 

The dog too was on its feet, though it seemed disinterested as it trotted from the room.

Aramis was powerless to stop the tears that ran down his cheeks. There was nothing to do but ride out the pain and wait for it to be over. 

"God... please..." he gasped, praying for the agony to end. He felt like he was being flayed from the inside.

He was dimly aware of the low rumble of his friends' voices - Athos and d'Artagnan having joined Porthos in his worried vigil. Aramis reached for them blindly; the other fist clenched against his chest. 

Athos captured his flailing hand, lending him strength, while Porthos rubbed his shoulders. 

As the bout of coughing eased, Athos directed d'Artagnan to pass the cup of honey and herbs. The contents were cold, but soothing nonetheless, and Aramis drank it gratefully.

"Easy," Porthos warned, "slow down or you'll start coughing again."

Aramis' expression said never would be too soon. The simple act of drinking exhausted him still further and he sank into the chair, utterly spent; the cup now a leaden weight in his hand. Athos took it from him before he could drop it.

The fire cast dancing shadows around the room, leaving everything in it dark and indistinct. Even so, it wasn't hard to make out the worry in his friends' faces. Aramis tried to reassure them.

"I'm all right. Just sore. Give me a day or so and I will have recovered."

D'Artagnan was the most openly incredulous, but the other two were equally dismissive of his claim.

"More like a week or two," said Porthos.

"At the very least," said Athos.

"What? No."

"Yes," said Athos, in a tone that would hear no further argument. "Porthos can remain with you. D'Artagnan and I will ride back to Paris in the morning and report to the Captain."

"I can travel," said Aramis. He braced his hands on the sided of the chair as he attempted to stand. The resulting pain almost caused him to black out. 

When the nausea receded and the pain dulled to a steady throb, Aramis found himself the recipient of a mixture of incredulity and concern. 

"Have you finished trying to do yourself further injury?"

Aramis scowled at Athos, but didn't trust his own voice to reply.

"I'll make sure he behaves himself," said Porthos.

"Perhaps you could remind him that he's naked underneath that blanket," said d'Artagnan. He and Porthos exchanged a grin as Aramis glowered at them.

"Enough," said Athos. "Go back to sleep." He put a hand lightly on Aramis' shoulder, drawing his gaze. "Do you think you will be able to?"

Aramis gave a tired nod.

"We will try to return within a few days," said Athos. "We will bring a cart with us. Providing you rest sufficiently in our absence, you can travel back to Paris in that."

Aramis flashed him a grateful smile.

The four of them prepared to bed down again for the night. The dog returned to take its place on the floor now that all the talking was done. Its jowls dripped with water, and to d'Artagnan's dismay it dropped down next to him with a loud huff, pressing its wet jaw against the back of his neck. Any attempt to discourage it was greeted with the same unsettling rumbling as before. In the end he drew his blanket up over his head; choosing cold feet over dog drool down his collar.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning the four ate breakfast together, though Aramis had little appetite and had to be encouraged to try anything. In the end it was the inn keeper's wife who cajoled him into eating. Afterwards, Athos assisted Porthos in getting Aramis upstairs. The room had a reasonable sized bed and a smaller, straw-stuffed palette. By the time Aramis was propped up in the bed he was pale and sweaty, one arm protectively cradling his ribs.

Athos and d'Artagnan said their farewells; Porthos accompanied them outside as they prepared to mount up and ride out.

"What are we going to do about the ones who did this?"

"There is little we can do," said Athos. "I doubt they will be foolish enough to stake out the same stretch of forest road, which will make catching them all but impossible."

They had no descriptions of the men responsible; Aramis could not even be certain how many had attacked him.

"The best we can hope for is to recover some of his belongings. His pistols are distinctive. Then of course there is his horse."

Porthos bared his teeth in a humourless smile. "Oh, I do hope one of them tried to ride it."

"If they did, I wager money they regretted it," said d'Artagnan. On the few occasions he had been forced to borrow Aramis' mount, the animal had all but driven him to distraction with its constant fussing and fidgeting. His eagerness to get back to his own phlegmatic gelding had become something of a running joke between the four.

"I wager money it dumped the bastard on his arse."

"We can but hope," said Athos

They bid Porthos farewell and rode for Paris.

****

Further down the road, Athos pulled up his horse. D'Artagnan brought his mount alongside.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, as of yet. However, you might want to have your pistol close at hand."

"I thought you said they wouldn't make a second attempt on this road," said d'Artagnan, looking ahead to where it wound its way into the forest.

Athos corrected him.

"I said I felt it was unlikely. However, it may be that I am crediting them with more sense than is warranted. We should be on our guard, all the same."

D'Artagnan nodded, accepting the older man's judgement without further question. The road soon narrowed as they entered the trees. Athos went first, with d'Artagnan keeping close behind him. The forest felt close and oppressive, the sun's light scarcely able to reach them through the tight canopy of branches. It was eerily quiet too, save for the far off sound of a woodpecker and the chattering of the occasional small bird that was sent into nervous flight as they rode by.

He reached forward to pat his mount's neck as the horse whinnied softly. It tossed its head and shuffled its feet. D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow when he saw Athos' horse behaving in the same manner. He scanned the trees and jumped when his horse let out a sudden loud nicker. He chided himself for allowing his unsettling surroundings to get to him, and patted his horse's neck again. The animal let out another loud nicker. Athos' horse followed suit.

D'Artagnan sat up straighter in his saddle when a third horse responded. He drew his pistol clear of his cloak.

"Wait," said Athos, directing d'Artagnan to listen.

The horses whinnied in sequence once more. First d'Artagnan's, then Athos', then the third, unseen horse. Athos broke into a rare smile as the animal showed itself, moving cautiously through the trees toward them.

"Is that-?"

"Yes," said Athos.

It was Aramis' horse. The poor animal had suffered a number of scratches, presumably from branches as it ran through the forest. Its reins had snapped and hung down around its legs; one of the stirrup leathers had suffered the same fate.

It snorted as it drew closer. D'Artgnan's horse whinnied in response. At this, Aramis' horse ran forward, eager to take its place among its stablemates. All three snorted and squealed as they got reacquainted.

D'Artagnan was able to grab one of the dangling pieces of broken rein. He crooned softly to the frightened animal and the familiar sound of his voice, coupled with the presence of the other two horses, eventually had a calming effect . After taking a moment to ensure that the animal was fit to go on with them, they got underway again, with d'Artagnan leading Aramis' horse.

"Do you think they tried to catch it?"

"Possibly," said Athos. His tone implied that it would have been a wasted effort on the part of the thieves.

"Aramis will be happy we have been able to recover it." D'Artagnan frowned as the horse in question tried to step closer, teeth snapping shut on air as it attempted to bite his cloak. He folded it more tightly around him. "Though quite why he's so attached to it eludes me."

"Aramis claims the animal is a good judge of character."

"You mean because it's contrary with everyone but him?" said d'Artagnan. He was tugging a flap of his cloak free of the animal's mouth as he spoke.

Athos glanced over his shoulder, the trace of a smile on his lips.

"Exactly so."

*****

They made the return journey four days later, taking along the promised cart. Aramis was still pale, his eyes ringed by shadows, but his spirits rose considerably when they gave him the news that his beloved horse was resting safely at the garrison stable. They spent the night and set off at first light the following morning.

The innkeeper's son accompanied them to the very end of the lane. Having already declared his intention to join the regiment as soon as he was old enough.

"We'd be glad to have a lad as brave as you," said Porthos.

"Not forgetting those sharp eyes of yours," added Aramis. "Without them I would have spent an unhappy night under the stars."

Delighted by their praise, a smiling Philippe waved them farewell.

The remainder of the journey was less pleasant. Aramis grew paler with every hour that passed. By the time they reached the garrison, shortly after dusk, he was trembling with pain. They had decided a quiet room here would be easier than struggling up stairs to lodgings, and it had the additional benefit that they could keep a close eye on him while he recovered.

Having got him settled, Athos and Porthos chose to spend the night in the garrison rather than face the walk back to their own lodgings. D'Artagnan bid them goodnight and retired to his own room.

Over the next few days they divided their time between their duties and caring for their friend. In addition to a feverish chill that served to aggravate his cracked ribs, Aramis' feet pained him enough that he was forced to stay off them while they healed. This inactivity made him restless and irritable. He grumbled about having to break in a new pair of boots, and lamented over the loss of his sword and pistols.

Even when he was finally able to shuffle about in a soft pair of slippers, Aramis' spirits remained low.

He was eating breakfast alone in his room when his friends arrived, d'Artagnan all but tumbling through the door in his haste. Aramis noted the bundles they carried with interest. His gaze was drawn to the one Athos was holding, for even wrapped the size and shape was unmistakable.

Aramis sat back in his chair and faced his friends with a curious expression.

Athos set his bundle down carefully on the table and went to sit over on the bed.

"Go on then," said Porthos. "Open it."

"I was not under the impression that this was a day for receiving gifts."

"Open it," said d'Artagnan, almost vibrating with excitement.

Aramis carefully unfolded the cloth and his breath caught.

Upon first glance he thought they had recovered his lost sword, but a closer inspection revealed it was a near perfect replica. He stood, holding it in his hand to get a feel of balance of the blade. He looked at his friends.

"This is... I don't know what to say," he admitted, honestly.

"There's more," said d'Artagnan, impatiently. "You haven't looked at them all yet."

Porthos set his bundle down on the table.

Aramis opened it to reveal a pair of beautifully crafted pistols with intricate designs identical to the ones he had lost. The hot prickle of tears stung his eyes and he blinked rapidly.

"So, do you like them?" Porthos asked.

"They're beautiful," said Aramis, honestly.

"It wasn't just us," said Porthos. "The Captain gave a donation, so did a few others, even Serge put in something. And when d'Artagnan mentioned what had happened, Madame Bonacieux insisted she be allowed to contribute. Madame Marchant must have heard something because she came by with a purse, and after that it just kind of took off."

"Took off?" Aramis echoed faintly.

"I have a list," said d'Artagnan. He unscrolled a piece of paper and began to read out the names.

"Madame Marchant; Madame Dubé; Madame Houle; Madame Beaulac; Madame Sauveterre; Madame Bonnet; Madame Maréchal; Madame Blanchet."

A grin escaped as he read the next two names on the list. "Madame _and_ Monsieur Rousseau."

Porthos shook his head in mock despair, while Athos ducked his head to hide what might have been a smile.

"A charming couple," said Aramis.

"Madame Tolbert; Madame Voclain; Madame Leclair and Madame Bigaud."

"Widowed sisters," said Aramis.

D'Artagnan got to the bottom of the list finally and handed the scroll of paper to Aramis so he could see for himself.

"We had more money than we needed in the end," said Porthos. "So we divvied the remainder between the local churches."

"Here," said d'Artagnan, nudging his arm to draw him out of his reverie. "You still have to open this one."

Aramis blinked sharply and looked at the bundle the young man had placed in front of him. The cloth had already fallen open to reveal a pair of boots, and a blue cloak. Aramis made a sound in the back of his throat and touch the latter reverently.

"From the Captain," said Porthos.

Aramis could only nod, as the words dried up in his mouth.

D'Artagnan was uncertain as to the cause of his silence. "We know it's not the same as getting back what you lost, but at least you won't have to walk around the garrison in your slippers any more," he joked awkwardly. "Oh, and there's one more thing." He darted outside the room and returned a moment later brandishing a hat, decorated with a few tasteful feathers. "We didn't dare wrap it in with the rest in case we crushed it," he explained.

His smile faltered when Aramis stared at the hat without saying a word, but as he glanced at the others for guidance Aramis suddenly drew him into an embrace, mindful not to crush the hat, murmuring a litany of heartfelt thanks.

"You're welcome," laughed d'Artagnan happily.

Porthos joined the embrace, tugging Athos up into too.

"No man could wish for better brothers," said Aramis. No thief, however cunning, could steal this from him. The most valuable of all his possessions - the bond of brotherhood.


End file.
